


love burning in your eye

by trishapocalypse



Series: i thought about the fire in the sky [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Rimming, there's a lot of fluff, umm i think that's all for once? i don't know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-29
Updated: 2013-09-29
Packaged: 2017-12-27 22:05:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/984139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trishapocalypse/pseuds/trishapocalypse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He pulled away long enough to watch Harry’s long lashes flutter against his cheeks, a hazy smile on his full lips, and Zayn remembered the first time he fell asleep next to Harry, how he felt watching the boy sleep and, fuck, he was still gone—completely and utterly <b>gone</b> for the lad. </i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>[Sequel to "About A Burning Fire"]</p>
            </blockquote>





	love burning in your eye

**Author's Note:**

> Hiiii this is a short sequel/companion piece to [About A Burning Fire](http://archiveofourown.org/works/913422) because I think you guys wanted it (and so did I). It's not that long, but. I don't know. I thought it was cute. Whatever. I hope you guys like it. You're all lovely and beautiful!
> 
> Dedicated to my lovely Frida. :)
> 
> tumblr: @trishanthemum :)

Zayn woke up to the familiar feeling of lips pressed against the back of his neck, underneath his hairline and down across the ink spread between his shoulder blades. Lips that traced the indent of where his shoulder met his neck, the hollow of his ear, the side of his jaw, until he felt thick curls brushing across his face. Zayn twitched, grumbling about the time when he felt fingertips along his forearm, tracing the ink before wrapping around his wrist. 

“Ya gon’ sleep all day, love?” Harry asked, pressing his lips to the corner of Zayn’s mouth lightly.

“Was thinkin’ about it,” he admitted. “Time is it?”

“Half-ten,” Harry whispered, nipping at the cut of Zayn’s jaw, covering the length of his boyfriend’s body with his own, wrapping the blanket tightly around them. 

Zayn groaned, burying his face in the pillow. “S’too early.”

Harry laughed lowly against his ear, releasing Zayn’s wrist to trail down his ribs, grabbing his hip. “Ya gotta start getting’ pretty in a couple hours. Ya nervous?”

“No,” Zayn answered automatically.

“It’s your album release,” Harry reminded him, sliding down against his side. He lifted up Zayn’s arm to crawl beneath it, resting his head on the pillow. “Did you forget?”

Zayn cracked one eye open and grinned. “No. How could I?”

Harry smiled, trailing his fingers across Zayn’s side again, towards his chest, tugging on his nipple. Zayn hissed lowly, eyes falling shut; Harry sucked his lower lip into his mouth. “M’proud of you, love.”

“Mhmm. Thanks.”

Harry’s smile widened as he tugged on Zayn’s nipple again, watching as his boyfriend’s cheeks flushed and his back arched. “Can I fuck you?”

Zayn laughed loudly. “So polite, Styles.”

“Yeah,” he said with a shrug. “Can I?”

“You’re gon’ have to do all the work,” Zayn told him, pulling the pillow out from under Harry’s head to cradle it against his chest. He rubbed his face against the cool fabric, smiling when Harry pinched his side. 

“I can do that,” he promised.

Zayn nodded, a contented sigh escaping his lips as Harry’s long fingers slowly opened him. His back arched as Harry’s lips found the back of his neck, biting and marking the skin as he slid into him effortlessly. Zayn’s fingers gripped the sheets as he panted, hips pushing back against Harry, and it instantly reminded him of the first time they did this, well—like _this;_ the first time he had Harry inside of him was barely a month before, and _fuck,_ if it wasn’t just as incredible. 

Harry moved slowly against him, his hand reaching for Zayn’s thigh and tugging it upwards, pushing it out and changing the angle in a way that made Zayn’s eyes roll into the back of his head. Harry’s hands tugged at his hips, pulling him off of the bed. Zayn pressed his cheek against the pillow, curses and moans slipping past his lips as Harry’s fingers wrapped around him, working him until he released over his hand, collapsing against the bed silently. Harry’s fingers dug bruises into the skin of Zayn’s hips as he came, wrapping himself around Zayn’s body, hiding his face in his neck.

“C’mere,” Zayn insisted, pulling Harry towards the mattress and under his body, pressing his lips to the side of his neck. He pulled away long enough to watch Harry’s long lashes flutter against his cheeks, a hazy smile on his full lips, and Zayn remembered the first time he fell asleep next to Harry, how he felt watching the boy sleep and, fuck, he was still gone—completely and utterly _gone_ for the lad. He trailed his fingers over the side of Harry’s neck and, for the first time in months, Harry didn’t flinch. He shivered, just slightly, though that could’ve been attributed to many other things. Zayn leaned forward and pressed his lips against the puckered skin right beneath his jaw, trailing down the side of his neck, up towards his ear, and back down towards his shoulder.

“Stop that,” Harry said with a bemused smile, pushing lightly at Zayn’s shoulder.

Zayn smiled against his shoulder, pressing another kiss to the soft skin. “Why?”

“Tickles,” he admitted. 

With a nod, Zayn turned Harry over onto his side and crawled behind him, fitting their bodies together. He reached across the bed for his mobile, opening it and ignoring his messages, setting an alarm, and he tossed the phone back towards the nightstand.

“If that breaks, I’m not buying you a new one.”

“Management will,” he grumbled. “We got another hour. I wanna spend it sleeping.”

Harry allowed Zayn to pull him back against his chest, lacing their fingers together, and he looked down at their hands. Zayn’s skin was still tan and golden, almost disgustingly so because it wasn’t _fair_ that he was so good looking; Harry’s skin was pale, but pink and puckered where his burns had been, the skin tight but nearly completely healed. It looked better, obviously, but still strange; it wasn’t the worst, though, the skin on his neck, that was— Well, Harry wasn’t really allowed to say anything bad about it because Zayn wouldn’t _let him_ or something ridiculous. 

“Stop thinking so loud. You know you’re perfect,” Zayn whispered against the back of his neck.

Harry felt his stomach twist into knots, something that it often did whenever Zayn did or said something sweet (which was almost always—the lad was a _romantic,_ not that he would admit it because he had a reputation or _something_ ). He tightened his grip around Zayn’s fingers, snuggling back against his chest and, yeah, okay, maybe Zayn made him feel just a _little bit_ perfect. Whatever. 

 

+

 

Harry swung the garment bag across his shoulder, holding the metal hanger with two fingers, while he scrolled through his mobile with his free hand. Zayn kept messaging him, bitching about his stylist and his hair dresser and, really, he had so many _problems._ Harry smiled, rolling his eyes before typing out a response, saying he’d be there soon, and he almost missed it. He almost missed someone calling his name, and that voice—he knew that voice; it caused him to stop dead in his tracks on the sidewalk, outside the shops, and he looked over his shoulder to see Louis standing a couple of yards away.

“Hi.”

Harry didn’t respond for a moment, his eyes instinctively fluttering down to his hand, his arm, where his scars were visible, and he suddenly felt the same as he did that day back in the hospital. The same anger and shame, just a hint of betrayal, knowing Louis didn’t think he was good enough for him because of his accident. The scars used to be a reminder of that, for a time, until they morphed into a reminder of Zayn; Zayn who was drawn to him before knowing about the accident, who visited him every day because his scars didn’t matter, and Zayn, who fell hopelessly in love with Harry, scars and all. And Harry was done with being weak, being upset because some wanker broke up with him for essentially no reason, even if the wanker was appearing before him for the first time since that day in the hospital. Harry wasn’t weak—he wasn’t. “Hi, Louis.”

“You look…good,” Louis told him earnestly, nodding.

“I know,” Harry said softly.

Louis’ eyebrows raised and he nodded again, slower. He reached a hand up, pushing his caramel hair away from his forehead. “How’ve ya been?”

“Great,” he replied instantly, because he _was_ great. And he wasn’t going to stand there in front of Louis and pretend like he was still hurt, that he was still devastated by the break-up, because he wasn’t. He had Zayn, who was more than he could ever ask for and infinitely more than he ever deserved, and he was _great._

“Yeah, me, too,” Louis told him. 

Harry nodded, feeling his mobile vibrate in his palm, and he glanced down, seeing another message from Zayn. 

“Niall says you’re still with…that lad from the hospital,” he said.

“Zayn. And, yeah, I am,” he corrected him. “Why?”

Louis shrugged. “Just making polite conversation.”

“Hmm,” Harry said, pursing his lips. “And if I don’t want to politely converse with you?”

“I think you’re too nice to say something like that,” Louis said with a wry grin. 

Harry laughed softly. “I think you lost the right to say things like that when you broke up with me when I was lying in hospital,” he told him with a wide grin. “Am I too nice to say something like that?”

Louis hesitated. “That was harsh, but not untrue,” he grumbled. 

“I’m –No, I’m not sorry. But I am going to go. I have to get ready for tonight,” he told him.

“Big date?”

“It’s Zayn’s release party for his album,” Harry replied, and he tried not to sound smug. He tried not to sound like he was rubbing it in his face like _ha, you arse, you broke up with me and my new boyfriend is a recording artist and he’s releasing his album and we’ll be hanging out with Kanye and Beyonce all night_ because Harry wasn’t That Guy. (But part of him _wanted_ to be. He wanted Louis to regret it, to feel horrible, to see what he was missing out on. But at the same time, he didn’t _care,_ because he was happier with Zayn than Louis ever made him, so.)

Louis’ eyebrows rose again. “Niall didn’t mention that.”

Harry shrugged and smiled, sending Louis a small wave before he turned away and started to make his way back to Zayn’s flat. Sure, it was more than a little petty, but Harry was allowed to have those moments since they were few and far between. By the time he got back to Zayn’s flat, he had nearly forgotten about it. He passed Zayn’s stylist on the way in, sending her a smile and ruffling her lilac hair before dipping into the flat, tossing the garment bag over the back of the couch.

“Zayn?”

“In here.”

Harry meandered through the bedroom and into Zayn’s walk-in closet that was quite brilliant, actually. There was a settee and an entire wall dedicated purely to his shoes which Harry teased him about mercilessly, but he was actually jealous; there was a giant mirror on one side where Zayn stood with a frown, eyeing two outfits hanging in front of him with a look of pure disdain on his face. Harry leaned against the doorway, watching as Zayn frowned, and he couldn’t help but smile because Zayn was _fit._ His hair was styled away from his forehead, jelled up into a ridiculous quiff that Harry loved, scruff lining his jaw, and his eyes looked impossibly golden; his skin was smooth, covered in tattoos that Harry could draw in his sleep, and he was only wearing a tiny pair of black pants low across his hips, where Harry could faintly see the bruises he’d left that morning. 

“I sometimes wonder if it’s my stylist’s mission to make me look as ridiculous as possible,” Zayn grumbled. “I mean, who would wear this?” he asked, pointing towards the outfits.

“Hmm?”

Zayn met Harry’s eyes in the mirror and grinned. “Are you even paying attention?”

Harry shook his head. “Not really.”

“Where’s your suit?”

“In the living room. What are you wearing tonight?”

“Not this, that’s for sure,” Zayn told him with a sigh. 

Harry nodded and walked over towards him, wrapping his arms around his waist, resting his chin on Zayn’s shoulder. “You look great in anything. Or nothing—especially nothing. But definitely wear clothes tonight.”

“Don’t really have a choice. Gotta hide these bruises you left somehow,” Zayn said, trailing his fingers over Harry’s wrist, across his forearm, and he was reminded of the times that Harry wouldn’t let him do that, where Harry would barely let Zayn touch him. And they’d come far, so far since those days in the hospital, and Zayn linked their fingers together, squeezing Harry’s hand. “I love you,” he said simply, easily; he didn’t say it often, because Zayn knew that words were overused and he didn’t want his to ever lose their meaning, didn’t want Harry to ever question if he meant it because he meant every word. 

Harry’s breath hitched in his throat and he felt himself smile. “I love you, too,” he whispered again Zayn’s neck, burying his face against the skin to hide the wide smile on his face. He was used to Zayn’s declarations, but he wasn’t used to the way his stomach still twisted into knots as if he were eleven and Zayn was his first crush. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to it, the feeling of someone loving him so blindly and so wholly, so selflessly, without want for anything in return. 

Zayn tilted his head to look at Harry, who was still burrowing into his shoulder. “Want to help me find something to wear?”

“Maybe,” Harry said quietly, lifting his head to meet Zayn’s eyes. “I’d rather blow you, first—help you relax and all.”

Zayn laughed, a faint blush reaching his cheekbones, and he pinched Harry’s side. “You’re so selfless,” he teased.

Harry grinned. “I know,” he said, pulling away and turning Zayn around, backing him up against the mirror before effortlessly dropping to his knees. He looked up at Zayn from under his eyelashes, green eyes wide, and his grin widened. “Can I?”

“Fuck, yeah, I—“ Zayn cut himself off when his shoulders touched the cold glass, and a shiver ran down his spine. But that could’ve also been because Harry had pulled his pants down his hips, lips ghosting over his warm flesh, and yeah—it was probably, definitely because of Harry’s mouth. Zayn’s eyes slipped shut and he let his head fall back against the mirror, his fingers carelessly finding Harry’s curls, threading through them as Harry’s mouth made him weak. 

It was amazing, really, how Zayn had been in this exact situation multiple times, yet it always felt like the first, from the way Harry’s fingers hesitantly gripped his thighs, his nose nudging against his pelvis, tongue tracing the vein and over the head of his cock in a gentle pattern that had Zayn seeing stars behind his eyelids. Zayn panted and everything slowed down, he could feel the sweat pooling by his collarbones, at his hairline, and he knew that his quiff was probably fucked, the makeup and bronzer that his stylist insisted upon using (even though Zayn was already kind of _bronze,_ thanks so much) was probably untraceable, but Harry’s fingers were ghosting along the back of his thighs, tracing over his rim, and he was done. He came without warning, fingers tightening in Harry’s hair on their own, feeling his boyfriend moan around him, and _fuck._

Harry pulled away slowly, licking his lips before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Feeling more relaxed?”

Zayn smiled lazily, running his fingers over Harry’s scalp, tugging on his curls. “Yeah. You’re brilliant.”

Harry shrugged nonchalant, but he couldn’t hide the flush that started at the base of his neck, barely reaching his cheeks. “Wear your leather jacket, the old one.”

“Is that too casual?”

Harry shook his head. “It’s your party—wear what you want. Besides, I like you in that jacket.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “S’really sexy.”

Zayn grinned. “Leather jacket it is.”

 

+

 

The thing was, Harry should’ve been expecting it. He was used to his scars, but not everyone else was. And he had met some of the people Zayn had worked with before, just a few, but this was different. This was his _release party_ and, no, Beyonce and Kanye weren’t there and that was fine, really, but there were a lot of people—a lot of people that Harry didn’t know, who didn’t know him, and it made him nervous. And he was comfortable on his own, but it was also uncomfortable because Zayn was off talking to everyone, schmoozing and charming people, unable to stay by Harry’s side. But it was alright, because Liam was there, and Harry was nursing his third glass of wine.

“Having fun?”

Harry shrugged, tugging at the collar of his shirt. It was a little tight; he wasn’t used to wearing collared shirts because they tended to aggravate his skin, but he wanted to look nice for Zayn’s party. And nice usually entailed covering up as many of his scars as he could. “Loads,” he told him with a bright smile.

Liam laughed. “You look uncomfortable.”

“This shirt just—“ he trailed off and shrugged again. “I’m fine.”

“Unbutton it a little. It might chafe. If that happens—“

“Okay, Nurse Liam,” Harry interrupted with a grin. 

Liam rolled his eyes, taking a sip of his wine. “I’m just looking out for you.”

“I know,” Harry told him. He handed his glass over to Liam for long enough to unbutton the first two buttons of his crisp white shirt. He pressed tentative fingers to the side of his neck, feeling how warm it was, and he knew it was probably red and— Whatever. Zayn wouldn’t mind, so Harry wasn’t going to let it bother him. He took his glass back from Liam and took a small drink, glancing around the room. It was a big night, huge really, and he spotted Zayn across the room, talking to some artist that Harry probably should’ve known but he didn’t, and he looked. Well, he looked incredible, like always. He was wearing the old leather jacket that Harry loved over top of a loose white shirt, creeping over his collarbones and exposing a fair amount of his ink; his black jeans were tight across his thighs, bagging over the top of his boots that never seemed to leave his feet. And Harry was hit again with the realization that Zayn was kind of _his,_ and that was incredible. 

“I’m happy for him, y’know.”

Harry turned to face Liam with wide eyes. “Hmm?”

“All of this,” Liam said, gesturing around the room. “He deserves it. And you. You two fit together.”

Harry felt himself smile and he ducked his head, just briefly. “Thanks. I—We do, yeah?”

Liam nodded. “When he told me he met you, I was worried because of the whole… Louis thing. But, I don’t know, you two work together. I’m happy for you both.”

“Yeah?” Harry asked, his smile widening. He caught Liam’s nod and turned back, meeting Zayn’s eyes across the room and, yeah, Liam was right—they _worked._

 

+

 

“S’a pleasure to meet you, mate. Thanks for coming out,” Zayn said, shaking Nick’s hand. And it was pretty cool, because Nick was a DJ, and a decently nice guy, and Zayn was nothing if not hospitable.

Nick grinned. “Pleasure’s all mine,” he assured him. “Now that all of the professional stuff is out of the way, let’s be honest. Who here are you shagging?”

Zayn laughed; Nick was a riot, obviously, and he had a way of putting people at ease. “Tryin’ to get some dirt on me for your morning show? Sneaky, Grimshaw.”

“I’m offended,” Nick said with a pout. “I would never do such a thing.”

“Of course not,” Zayn said, clearly placating him. 

“Which one is it?” Nick asked, glancing around the room. “Bird or bloke?”

“Bloke,” he said instantly, turning over his shoulder and instantly finding Harry; it didn’t hurt because when Harry looked so fit, Zayn didn’t really notice anyone else anyway. 

Nick followed his eyes and grinned. “Alright. Good choice, mate. I didn’t think muscular and fit was your type, but—“

“Wait,” Zayn interrupted. “You think—Liam’s not my—“ he felt himself laugh. He met Harry’s eyes again and motioned for him to come over. Harry, adorable as ever, pointed to himself with his eyebrows raised; Zayn grinned and nodded, watching as his boyfriend passed his wine glass off to Liam before making his way across the room.

“Oh,” Nick deadpanned. “He’s…pretty. What’s wrong with his neck?”

Zayn’s spine stiffened and he turned slowly, catching Nick’s eye. “Excuse you?”

“I just—I meant—What’s wrong with him?”

Zayn swallowed and grabbed Nick’s arm, jerking him around until they were facing one another. “If you ever say that to me, around me, near me, or anywhere that I can hear it, ever again, I will ruin you,” he told him, his voice low, his eyes narrowed.

Nick took a step back. “Zayn, I—“

“There’s nothing _wrong_ with him,” Zayn snapped. “There’s something _wrong_ with people like you who make rash judgments before you’ve ever talked to someone.”

“I’m sorry, I—“

“You are sorry, I know,” he interrupted. 

“I just meant, like, what happened,” Nick corrected himself.

“I know what you meant. I have a problem with how you said it, your tone. It was very rude.”

“What was very rude? That lady who just left, her outfit??” Harry asked, slinking up beside Zayn. “It was quite rude. I didn’t understand it at all.”

Zayn felt at least seventy percent of the tension leave his body when he wrapped an arm around Harry’s waist. “It was _art,_ ” he told him.

Harry rolled his eyes. “It was offensive.”

“Most art is,” Zayn shrugged.

Harry grinned. “I’ll give you that one. Hi, I’m Harry,” he said, sticking out his hand.

“My boyfriend,” Zayn added, sending Harry a soft smile.

“Nick Grimshaw. Pleasure to meet you,” he told him, eyes flittering down to Harry’s hand. He hesitated, just briefly, before reaching for his hand.

The smile slowly faded from Harry’s face, and he didn’t miss how Nick jerked his hand back a little quicker. “The DJ? Really?”

Nick nodded. “The one and only.”

“Is there a problem?” Zayn asked, fixing Nick with an even stare.

“Not at all.”

Harry swallowed. “I caught on fire a few months ago. Bit silly, really,” he said with a shrug, his tone shifting slightly.

“Harry—“

“He’s wondering, I can tell. The whole room probably is,” he grumbled, reaching up towards his collar to re-button his shirt.

“Don’t,” Zayn said softly, reaching for Harry’s hand and pressing his lips to the back of his knuckles. 

“Zayn,” Harry started, shifting from foot to foot. “They’re all staring,” he whispered.

“Because they’re jealous I’m with the fittest lad in the room,” Zayn told him easily.

“That’s not why, and you know it,” he said sadly.

Zayn leaned in and pressed his lips against Harry’s cheek. “That is why, and you just don’t realize it.”

“Not to interrupt the love fest here which, it’s cute, really,” Nick said with a wry grin, “but how did it happen?”

“Nick,” Zayn started, his jaw clenching.

“It’s alright, Zayn,” Harry told him. “Silly accident, honestly. We were fixing my ex’s car, the engine stalled when I was pouring petrol into the carburetor, and, well,” he shrugged. 

“Went up like the Fourth of July?” Nick asked. “Can I call you Freddy?”

“Absolutely not,” Zayn snapped. “You need to leave.”

“Zayn, it’s alright,” Harry told him softly.

“No, it isn’t,” Zayn said, shaking his head, and his hold around Harry’s waist tightened. “People don’t get to say things like that, alright? They can think it; sure, I can’t control that. But I’m not going to have guests at _my_ party talk about _my_ boyfriend in such a manner. It’s not going to happen. So, Grimshaw, you can either leave, or I can have someone escort you out.”

Nick shrugged. “I was joking, but—“

“I don’t—“

“It’s alright,” Harry interrupted, reaching for Zayn’s hand. 

“Sorry,” Nick mumbled as if the words tasted foreign on his tongue. 

“Thank you,” Harry said with a tight-lipped smile.

Nick pointed over his shoulder. “I am gonna go, though, only because I have an early morning. It was lovely meeting both of you.”

“What a wanker,” Zayn grumbled.

“Zayn, you can’t hate everyone who…says something about it, you know?” Harry said softly.

“I can try.”

Harry sighed. “It’s not worth it.”

“You are,” Zayn told him. “He had no right—“

“He was joking.”

“He hurt your feelings. I don’t care if he was joking or not.”

“He didn’t—“

Zayn pulled Harry closer to him and cut him off with a kiss, ignoring the people around him. He didn’t care if his manager, producer, stylist, _whoever_ thought it was inappropriate or whatever. It didn’t _matter._ “Let’s go home.”

“Wh-What?” Harry stumbled over his words briefly. “But…it’s your party?”

“And I can leave whenever I want,” Zayn told him. “Let’s just go.”

Harry looked around, cheeks flushed, and he studiously ignored Liam laughing from across the room. “Don’t you have to stay?”

Zayn shook his head. “I’d much rather take you home, get you out of this suit, and fuck you until you can’t walk,” he said simply. “Any objections?”

Harry swallowed and shook his head slowly. “None at all.”

 

+

 

Harry wasn’t sure, but he was almost positive that Zayn was obsessed with his scars. He didn’t know if it was general obsession or if it was because he wanted Harry to know that he didn’t mind, that he didn’t care, that the scars were _a part_ of him. Either way, it didn’t matter, because he was trailing his lips along the edge of Harry’s scars, across his neck where the puckered skin met pale flesh, his fingers gripping Harry’s waist, tugging the crisp white shirt out of his dark jeans. Harry grasped when Zayn’s fingernails raked down the front of his hips, tracing the faint v-outline, dipping under the hem of his jeans. 

Harry reached for Zayn’s biceps, gripping them tightly as his boyfriend maneuvered him back towards the bed. Harry stumbled when Zayn removed his hands from his jeans, reaching for his shoulders and pushing him towards the bed. Zayn smiled and dropped to his knees in front of Harry, tugging off his boots and throwing them over his shoulder, cringing when he heard it knock something off of the dresser; Harry laughed loudly, ignoring the glare that Zayn sent him.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t think it was anything important,” Zayn said with a shrug. 

“Didn’t sound breakable,” Harry told him. “I think we’re good.”

Zayn nodded and pulled Harry’s socks off, tossing them to the side, before pushing him back against the mattress. He quickly undid his jeans, pulling them down his hips along with his pants, while Harry giggled, lifting his hips off of the bed to help him. Zayn climbed on top of him, straddling his waist; he leaned down and pressed their lips together, Harry’s hands finding his hair instantly. Harry went pliant beneath him when Zayn’s fingers dipped under his shirt, trailing the ink spread across his abdomen, and it barely registered that Zayn had unbuttoned his shirt until Zayn was pulling away, pushing the fabric back against his shoulders, mumbling _off, off_ in a way that had Harry’s heart racing. 

Harry sat up quickly, shrugging the fabric off of his shoulders, reaching for Zayn. Zayn shook his head, pointing towards the headboard, readjusting both of them until Harry’s head was cradled between the pillows, fingers tracing the soft skin of Zayn’s wrists. “Why are you still clothed? That’s hardly fair,” he grumbled.

Zayn smiled and pressed his lips against Harry’s, kissing the protest off of his lips, pushing him back against the mattress. He kept his hands at Harry’s waist, holding him down, trailing his lips down the side of his neck. 

“Let me—“

“Let me take care of you, yeah?”

Harry paused. “Y’have been for a while now,” he whispered.

Zayn smiled, nudging Harry’s nose with his own before kissing him quickly. “Never gon’ stop,” he promised. 

“Good,” Harry decided, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth in a pathetic attempt to hide his smile. And he couldn’t say no to Zayn even if he wanted to, which he didn’t, because it was actually impossible. And, well, it definitely had a little bit to do with the way that Zayn was kissing and biting his way across Harry’s collarbone—just a little bit, because all of his blood was rushing south and he wasn’t thinking clearly. 

Zayn made his way down the front of Harry’s chest, lips and tongue tracing the ink smattered across his pale skin, his fingertips tracing the scars along his side. Harry’s back arched when Zayn mouthed his navel, tongue tracing the small trail of hair underneath, and his hands instinctively tangled in Zayn’s hair again. He jerked in surprise when he felt Zayn’s fingers trailing across his hole, brushing past his opening just slightly, just enough pressure to tease, and Harry let out a groan. 

“Zayn—“

“Hmm?” Zayn asked, mouthing his way across Harry’s hips and towards the inside of his thigh. He heard Harry’s sharp intake of breath and smiled against his skin, nosing his way down further. His fingers found Harry’s knee and pulled it up, pushing his legs open a little wider, and he ducked down, tongue brushing past Harry’s balls. 

Harry tugged sharply on his hair, a breathless moan escaping his lips. “Zayn—You don’t have—“

Zayn ignored him and pulled at his hips, hands cupping his bum, thumps brushing against his opening. His nose nudged against the soft skin right behind his balls and he slid his tongue across Harry’s hole; he felt Harry’s thighs clench, his breath catch in his throat, and he repeated the action slowly. 

Harry’s back arched when he felt Zayn’s thumbs pull at the skin around his opening, his tongue dipping in even further. “Zayn— _fuck,_ ” he moaned. He threaded his fingers through Zayn’s hair, hips arching off of the mattress when he felt one of Zayn’s long fingers slip inside of him next to his tongue. He cursed under his breath and shifted, resting his feet flat on the bed, and he pushed back against Zayn’s mouth. He barely felt Zayn’s chuckle, mainly he felt him exhale against his wet opening and he whimpered. “Zayn—“ 

“Good, yeah?” Zayn asked.

“Yeah,” Harry whimpered, his eyes clenched shut, and _fuck._ He felt the tip of Zayn’s tongue prodding against him again, and he was a mess. It was—It was _new,_ because they’d never done _that,_ and Harry had never done that, and he started wondering why because, fuck, it was pretty great. Zayn slid in a second finger and Harry ignored the burn completely, focusing on the wet slide of Zayn’s tongue between his fingers, and he cried out when he felt Zayn nip softly at his rim, and he was so _close._ “Zayn, m’gonna—if you—m’gonna—“

Zayn pulled away and sat up, working his fingers inside of Harry, nudging against his prostate. “Think you can come without me touching you?”

“I don’t know,” he moaned.

And he was—fuck, Harry was a vision. His curls were matted against his forehead, the flush high in his cheeks, his eyes squeezed shut, his cock was swollen and flushed red, leaking at the tip, and it took all of Zayn’s self-control to not take him into his mouth right there, sucking him until he came, boneless and spent. “Try?”

Harry huffed out a laugh and he nodded. The smile fell from his face when he felt Zayn’s lips at the base of his cock, barely tracing the vein on the underside before he dipped his head back down, flattening out his tongue and sliding it across Harry’s opening. And Harry didn’t think Zayn had been teasing before, not by any means, but now he was just being ruthless, in the best way possible. He twisted his fingers in deeper, pressed solidly against his prostate, the tip of his tongue catching against his rim. 

And Harry was panting, hips arching off the bed as he pushed back against Zayn; his fingers tangled in his hair, holding him in place as he felt the familiar twist in his stomach. Zayn’s teeth nipped at his opening before his tongue smoothed over the skin, and he brushed his knuckles across the base of Harry’s swollen cock. Harry cried out, Zayn’s name on his lips as he came instantly in spurts across his stomach, fingers loosening in Zayn’s hair. With a sigh, he settled back in against the mattress, rubbing at his eyes. 

Zayn smirked and pulled away, eyeing Harry with two fingers still deep inside of him. “You good?”

Harry nodded, gasping when Zayn pushed his fingers in a little deeper. “Zayn—“

“Think you can get hard for me again?” he asked softly.

“No, I—“ Harry cut himself off when another jolt of pleasure shot down his spine. “Zayn—fuck.”

Zayn smiled, kneeling between Harry’s legs. He reached for his hip, running his fingers softly over his hip, soothing. “You sure?”

Harry sucked in a deep breath; his eyes fluttered open long enough to watch Zayn reach for the bottle of lube on the nightstand. He felt Zayn’s fingers slip out of him for the barest of moments before pressing back at his entrance, wet and a little cold. 

“I think you can,” Zayn told him, pressing his mouth against Harry’s hip. 

“Zayn,” he whined, hips arching off the bed again. “S’too much.”

“Want me to stop?” he asked, his tongue tracing the underside of Harry’s cock.

“No,” he gasped, his heart rate skyrocketing as he felt himself start to get hard again. It should’ve been impossible, but with the way Zayn’s fingers were pressed again his prostate, his tongue sliding against the head of his cock, Harry wasn’t surprised, not really. 

Zayn smiled; he knew Harry wasn’t going to ask him to stop—he just _knew._ And Harry was stunning, still, always, pushing back against Zayn’s fingers as if he never wanted him to stop, and he probably _didn’t._

“Want more,” Harry panted, reaching down to stroke the side of Zayn’s face, over his jaw. “Wanna kiss you. C’mere.”

Zayn pulled away from Harry’s cock, twisting his wrist and nudging against Harry’s prostate again, and he crawled up the length of his boyfriend’s body. Harry’s fingers tangled in his hair, pulling his head down until their lips met in a rough kiss. 

“Want you to fuck me,” Harry muttered against his lips, reaching down to mess with the buckle of Zayn’s belt. His hands were shaking and he cursed. “Fuck, get your kit off, Zayn.”

Zayn laughed as he pulled away from Harry, slowly withdrawing his fingers from Harry, who whined and pushed back against him. 

“Zayn—“

“Hang on,” he said, tugging his shirt over his head and tossing it aside. He stood up long enough to kick off his boots and socks, shoving off his jeans and pants, and he climbed back onto the mattress, crawling between Harry’s hips. Harry reached out to him, wrapping his fingers around Zayn’s swollen cock, stroking him slowly. Zayn bit his lip, sighing at the small bit of relief, and he pressed his lips messily against Harry’s, their tongues sliding together effortlessly. 

“C’mon, fuck me,” Harry breathed out against his lips, fingers tightening around the base of Zayn’s cock.

Zayn huffed out a laugh against his lips. “Yeah, alright,” he said, grabbing Harry’s thighs and holding them apart. He reached down and gripped the base of his cock, Harry’s fingers sliding away; Harry wrapped his legs around Zayn’s waist, hips arching off of the bed as Zayn rubbed the swollen head of his cock across Harry’s hole. 

Harry lifted his hips up higher, digging his fingers into Zayn’s hips. “Zayn—“

Zayn smiled, rubbing himself against Harry’s opening. Harry went to say something but Zayn cut him off, sliding into him in one quick thrust. Harry gasped at the sensation, hands falling from Zayn’s waist to fall limply on the bed. Zayn pulled Harry’s hips further up around his thighs, changing the angle as he rocked against him, the head of his cock nudging against Harry’s prostate. 

“Fuck,” Harry breathed out, shoulders slumping against the mattress as Zayn fucked into him. He allowed Zayn to hold his hips off of the mattress, fucking him slowly, deeply, and Harry’s hands tangled in his own hair.

Zayn steadied Harry’s hips against his thighs, quickening his thrusts—he wasn’t going to last, not with how hard he had been all night, and definitely not with the way Harry was clenching around him, cursing, Zayn’s name falling from his lips on every second thrust. Harry pulled on his curls, his body limp and pliant as Zayn fucked into him, hitting his prostate each time; a moan slipped past his lips when Zayn wrapped his fingers tightly around him. 

“M’close, Zayn, _fuck,_ ” he gasped.

“Yeah,” Zayn said with a nod, jerking him off in time with his thrusts. Harry’s stomach tightened and he squeezed his eyes shut as Zayn slid his thumb over the head of Harry’s cock. Harry came with a breathless gasp, tears pricking the corner of his eyes, and that was all Zayn needed. He gripped Harry’s hips tighter, hard enough to bruise, and he stilled as he came, Harry’s name slipping past his lips. 

Harry giggled as Zayn pulled out of him, and he used his legs to tug Zayn towards his chest. 

Zayn smiled, collapsing against Harry with a breathless laugh. He pressed his lips against Harry’s neck, at the edge of his scars, and nuzzled against him. “I love you.”

Harry ran his hands through Zayn’s hair slowly, using his free hand to rub Zayn’s side. “I love you, too.”

“Good,” Zayn said, curling up against Harry’s side. He glanced up at him, reaching up to wipe the tears from Harry’s cheeks. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, not at all,” Harry said with a grin. “M’just—M’great, actually.”

Zayn smiled. “Yeah?”

Harry nodded. 

“Me, too.”


End file.
